I've Never Been held
by True Colours
Summary: ON HAITUS. Sorry, guys, I've left this one alone for too long and right now the pairing disturbs me. Sat down at the computer and tried to write some. Couldn't do it. I will try and break through this block, do not despair!
1. Chapter 1

**I've Never Been Held**

**Disclaimer:** Don't own the characters, destroyed the plotline.

Chapter One

_Air Force One._

Alex watched Sabina scramble out of the cabin and down the wreaked corridor. She had to press the button that would save the lives of millions round the globe. He knew he should really get up and do it himself, as he knew what the button looked like, but he was simply too tired to move. He could not imagine anything that would prompt him to stand for the next five hours.

And then Yassen spoke.

'Alex…'

Alex didn't have enough strength left to be surprised. He turned his head slowly, expecting to see a gun in the Russian's hand. It didn't seem fair to him. Was he really going to die now, just when help was on it's way? But Yassen wasn't holding a gun. He was sitting up, eyes open and alert, his hand resting on the shattered table to his left. Alex noticed for the first time that he had a long scar, dead straight, on his neck. There was no blood anywhere on the Russian though, as far as Alex could see, and next moment he had gripped a shattered table and hauled himself to his feet.

'You were shot-' Alex said blankly.

'So were you,' the Russian snapped. 'Do you really think I do not take precautions when working for a man like Cray? I knew it was a mistake. Now get up.'

Alex had thought he was spent, but self-preservation was kicking in again, pumping adrenaline into his system, giving him the strength to get to his knees.

Yassen watched his struggles with a detached air, and when Alex was on his feet he spoke again.

'Alex, we have to go.'

'Wait, we?' Alex repeated. He was bending over with his hands on his knees, trying to get his breath back. 'Why am I suddenly coming with you?'

'Alex, you are in great danger. My people are coming at this moment, and they are not going to be particularly happy. This is the second time you have single-handedly destroyed an operation in which they were invested. First in Cornwall, now here. It would be best for you to flee now.'

'And why we're on the subject of Cornwall, have you forgotten what got me dragged into all this in the first place? You killed my Uncle! Why should I trust you?'

'Do you want me to apologise, Alex?' Yassen asked coldly. 'It is true that I killed your uncle, but…' Yassen met Alex's eyes for the first time, and suddenly his face was more human, anxious almost… 'I couldn't kill you. I would never have killed you. You see Alex…' Yassen paused, seemed to debate with himself for a second, and then said:

'I knew you're father.'

'What?' Alex's face had been sceptical, but now his mouth fell open in shock.

'Your father. We worked together, he and I.' Yassen was speaking quickly and evenly now, his tone persuasive.

'You mean…he was spy?'

'Not a spy, no, Alex. He was a killer, like me. He was the very best. The best in the world. I knew him when I was nineteen. He taught me many things…'

'No!' Alex cried. He didn't believe Yassen, didn't want to believe him. But there was no escaping the admiration that coloured Yassen's tone as he spoke. It was totally out of character, but it sounded genuine enough.

'I don't believe you!' Alex cried. He was trying to convince himself. 'My father wasn't a killer. He couldn't have been.

'I'm telling you the truth.'

'Did he work for MI6?' Alex asked. He was being sucked in in spite of himself, the Russian's words messing with his head.

'No,' Yassen said. His mouth twisted slightly, suppressing a grimace. 'MI6 hunted him down. They killed him. They tried to kill both of us. At the last minute I escaped, but he…' Yassen swallowed. 'They killed your father, Alex.'

'No!'

'Why would I lie to you?' Yassen reached forward and gripped Alex's arm. It was the first physical contact the two had ever had. 'Your father, he did this.' Yassen drew a finger along the scar on his neck, but the sirens outside were getting nearer and there was no time to explain. 'He saved my life. In a way, I loved him.' He looked as if he was considering saying something more, but then he shook his head slightly, and when he spoke again the anecdote was over.

'Alex, those are not your friends out there, and after what I've done I doubt they will be mine either. Do you want to escape with me now, or will only a bullet in your chest be proof enough for you?'

Still Alex hesitated. If Yassen wanted to convince Alex he could scarcely have chosen a better story to tell. Every instinct screamed at Alex 'lies' but at the same time the Russian's words had sparked a burning curiosity in him. He had never known his father, and now here was a man who claimed he had. Alex knew he was being stupid. Yassen would probably kill him as soon as they got off the plane.

_If he wanted to kill me he could do it now_ Alex argued with himself._ If he wanted to kidnap me he could drag me off the plane._

'Alright,' he grunted. 'I'm with you.'

Instantly Yassen seized him and propelled him towards the door. They scrambled out of the twisted aircraft and crossed the runway at a crouching run. Yassen lead him for about a hundred yards to where a helicopter was standing on a square of asphalt.

'Hide here,' he said shortly, pulling Alex behind a stack of crates. 'I'm going to break in.' He sprang to the door of the helicopter and began to grapple with the lock.

Alex was crouched behind the crate, watching the plane, when he saw Sabina stagger from the communications room. An emergency official caught her and lowered her to the ground, pushing a bottle of water into her hands. Well, those officials were real enough. Alex saw men in American army uniform running towards the cabin door. If there were any of Yassen's 'people' around, they would surely be among the fake soldiers Alex had seen earlier.

'It's gonna blow!' someone yelled suddenly. Firemen dragged the foremost soldier from entering the cabin; Alex wondered if the man was in fact looking for his body. He suddenly realised that he didn't know if Sabina had been successful. The missiles could be destroyed, or they could be minutes away from their targets. How much time had passed since Cray pressed the button?

With all eyes on the plane, Alex leapt from his hiding place. He waved an arm, catching Sabina's attention. She understood immediately and gave him a clear thumbs up.

The plane exploded.

'Perfect.' Yassen's voice sounded suddenly, right in his ear, making him jump. 'They'll never find my body. Now get. out. of. sight!'

He dragged Alex back behind the crates and into the helicopter. Alex leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes as Yassen started up the rotor blades. He couldn't quite get his head around what he'd just done. With the exception of Sabina, no-one knew whether or not he was alive. He's thrown in his lot with Yassen Gregorovich, one of the most wanted men in the world. Did that constitute a criminal offence? Alex didn't suppose it mattered. Either Yassen would tell him about his father or he wouldn't.

Personally Alex didn't think he was going to survive the night.

**A/N: 'Bing done!' It won't all be transcribing from the book, I promise, I just thought it was interesting to look at the conversation through that filter, with Yassen alive and kicking.**

**Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them, make no money.

Chapter 2

'We're going to fly across the Channel and land in the Pyrenees,' Yassen said. Alex had been drifting towards sleep, but the Russian's grating voice dragged him back to consciousness.

'Pyrenees?' he slurred. 'That's in Spain, right?'

'Yes.'

'Why Spain?'

'I have a contact in Barcelona – not a member of my organisation, a private contact – who can hopefully arrange a passage home for you, and something new for me.'

'You mean like a new identity?' Yassen didn't answer, merely inclined his head.

'Why?'

'Because I am helping an enemy agent.' Yassen glanced sideways. 'You,' he clarified. 'I am not going to be too popular with my employers.'

'Oh.' Alex was silent for a few minutes, and then said:

'The Pyrenees and Barcelona, aren't they quite far apart?' Yassen groaned inwardly at the boy's feeble geography, but his voice was level as he replied:

'Yes, we will have to hike for several days to reach the city.'

'Then why are we landing in the Pyrenees?'

'Because that is as far as we can travel on the fuel in this helicopter,' Yassen said curtly, wondering how many more why questions he would have to endure. Thankfully Alex slumped down in his seat and looked set to sleep the rest of the flight away.

Yassen pulled on the joystick, steering the helicopter due south.

* * *

Yassen landed the helicopter on an unmarked table-top (while Alex surreptitiously held his breath and prayed), and then they jogged a couple of miles down the mountain to the hostel Yassen was aiming for. There was snow everywhere and the temperature was dropping. If they didn't keep moving they could easily freeze to death out here, Alex knew. All the same he was drenched in sweat by the time they arrived at the lodge-house, a tourist-trap with a hostel, a souvenir shop and a couple of restaurants. The setting sun cast long bars of reddish-orange light on the snow, and the wind blew, chilling Alex to the bone. They hurried across the car park and among the snowy picnic tables, and stepped gratefully into the reception area.

The hostel looked more Austrian than Spanish to Alex, all wooden beams and lace curtains with a cuckoo clock on the wall. As the clock chimed seven a smiling middle-aged women appeared behind the desk.

Yassen walked up to her and began to converse in fluent Spanish. Alex slouched against the wall behind them, following the words without too much difficulty. Sorry, there was only one bed left in the hostel. Would there be room on the floor for a second person? Yes, there was plenty of room. In that case they would take the room. Did she know where one could purchase hiking gear and sleeping bags?

Finally Yassen stepped away from the desk and turned to Alex.

'Did you follow that?' He asked.

'Yes.'

Yassen nodded his approval. 'I am going to take the tourist train down the mountain, to purchase us some clothing and gear and arrange a few things. This lady will show you to your room. I should be back not long after midnight, but try to go to sleep. We have an early start tomorrow.'

With that, Yassen turned and strode out of the building. Alex stared out of him for a minute, then shrugged and turned back to the desk. The woman addressed him in broken English, but he reassured her that he spoke Spanish. She was delighted, and chattered happily as she led him up the stairs. The room contained a generous single bed, an en-suite bathroom and a carved wooden dresser. It was very cold, but the woman produced a hot water bottle and piles of thick thermal blankets, and Alex assured her that with these he would be comfortable.

He ate alone in a corner of the hostel dining room, then made his way upstairs to his room and paced feverishly, unable to settle to anything. His stomach was full of butterflies. His mood veered wildly; at first he felt as though he was clinging desperately to the hours until midnight, which might well be his last, but as time dragged on he found himself wishing the assassin would return, if only to end the waiting. Several times he stood frozen with his hand on the door knob, on the point of trying to convince the hostel lady to call MI6, the police, anyone. but was there any point in making her think he was mad, and scaring her half to death? Most likely it wouldn't do any good, and anyway, he reasoned with himself, if Yassen only wanted to kill him, he could have done it on the plane. Or in the South of France. Or in Cornwall…

His brain wasn't convinced, but it was too cold to stay up, so he brushed his teeth, filled his hot water bottle and clambered into bed. The sheets were freezing, but he gradually warmed up and began to doze off. After all, being awake probably wouldn't help him in a fight against the Russian. With this dubiously comforting thought, he fell asleep.

A/N: There will now be much twitching and hesitation as I try to force myself to write my first slash, while dodging the prying eyes of parents and siblings (my computer is in the middle of my living room). However, I swear it will eventually be written.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Own nada.

A/N: From now on we will enter the twilight world of OCC-ness and dubious geography as I desperately try to make this story work. Obviously I have to write Yassen slightly over-emotional for the sake of the plot, but if you think he has progressed beyond light thawing, or is talking too much or using the wrong words, please tell me and I shall make adjustments. Enjoy!

**Chapter 3**

Alex woke with a jolt, his muscles clenched for attack. The room was almost perfectly dark. The hum of his electric blanket only intensified the silence. And a shadowy figure was settled on the bed.

'Alex?' Yassen said, hearing his gasp of shock. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Alex saw that Yassen was half lying, propped up on one elbow. It didn't look like a very likely pre-strangling position to Alex, but he did not relax.

'Don't be alarmed. I was only watching you sleep. I didn't mean to wake you.'

Alex stayed silent, trying to make sense of this statement.

'It was presumptuous of me. I'm sorry.'

'I – no,' Alex faltered, wrong-footed by Yassen's flawless, foreign courtesy. 'I mean…it's your room as much as mine…' Alex cast about for a different subject.

'Aren't you cold?' he asked. He was comfortable under his layers of blankets, but outside the room was so cold his breath was steaming, and Yassen was clad only in jeans and a light T-shirt.

'A little,' Yassen admitted. Alex heard his voice catch slightly as he shivered.

'There's enough blankets for two,' he said grudgingly. He didn't relish the thought but nor did he want Yassen dieing of hypothermia. 'Do you want to come under and warm up?'

Yassen sighed, then murmured 'yes thank you' and climbed under the covers, lying down with his back to Alex.

Alex felt the temperature drop in the few seconds he was exposed. He had to get Yassen warm. He shuffled closer to the Russian and wrapped his arms around him, then sucked in his breath in shock.

'Yassen, your hands are _freezing_!' he exclaimed. Yassen was shivering in earnest now, his breath coming ragged, as he warmed up. 'You shouldn't let yourself get so cold,' Alex scolded, chafing his arms up and down, trying to rub some warmth back into the Russian.

Yassen chuckled quietly.

'I don't know how you stand it,' Alex muttered.

'I am much warmer already, thank you,' Yassen said. His voice was quiet, and sounded oddly strained.

'Huh. I'm not,' Alex said grumpily. Yassen was one weird guy.

'You'll warm back up,' Yassen assured him. 'Go to sleep now.'

'You are such a hypocrite!' Alex spluttered. The silence turned questioning. 'You're the one who woke me up in the first place!'

'Then you should want to go to sleep,' Yassen said reasonably.

'Ugh. Well, no strangling.'

'I promise.'

'Whatever.' However, it was warming up again – warmer than ever, in fact – and Alex really was getting sleepy. Suspicions could wait till morning, if morning ever came. Alex was feeling increasingly confident that it would.

More easily than he would have thought possible, he fell asleep.

* * *

The first thing Alex noticed when he woke was that it was gloriously warm. Golden sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, picking out the grain of the woodwork, and the slight nip in the air only made his present state more pleasant.

Warm, but crowded.

Alex opened his eyes properly and saw the Russian lying next to him. He had turned over onto his back in the night and Alex's arms were still wrapped loosely round him. Alex grimaced. His left hand, wedged under Yassen's shoulder, was completely numb. He extricated himself carefully and massaged his fingers, trying to get rid of the agonising pins and needles that flared whenever he moved.

When he'd got the feeling back in his hand, he sat up and looked down at Yassen. His face was tense and hard, even in sleep, his eyelids flickering as he dreamed. Alex stared for the second time at the exposed scar on his neck. It cut a straight, dark line across the Russian's creamy skin, past his jaw from ear to collarbone. Alex could see that there were only a few millimetres in it. Whatever had caused this slight wound had very nearly been fatal. His father's handiwork. Yassen had said it had saved his life. What was the rest of the story? Alex reached out and traced a finger along the scar.

Next instant he was flat on his back on the bed. Yassen was bolt upright and had Alex's wrist twisted above his head, pinning him in place. Alex was frozen, his heart pounding. He could only stare at the Russian's burning eyes, at his rigid arm, at the raised hand, hard and taught as the blade of a knife, curved above his throat.

Then abruptly Yassen released him. Alex lay panting, noticing suddenly how his shoulder was throbbing from the way it had been twisted.

'Sorry Alex,' Yassen whispered, and was out of the room before Alex could draw breath.

* * *

It was a subdued breakfast. Alex sat on the bed for a few minutes after Yassen left, calming down, then showered and dressed quickly before following the Russian down. The food did nothing to improve his mood: a meagre spread of muesli, rolls and jam. Alex tried to eat a decent meal, knowing he would need his strength. They were among the first up; it was only a few minutes passed seven.

'Sorry about the, uh, rude awakening,' Alex tried out as they stacked their bowls at the end of the buffet table.

'I could have killed you,' Yassen muttered. He looked angry, though it was difficult to tell through his concealing mask, but Alex couldn't tell where the anger was directed. Yassen handed him a backpack with sleeping bag, food and a change of clothes, and then strode out into the crisp morning air.

'What now?' Alex asked, jogging to keep up.

'We're going to catch the shuttle train down the mountain. There is snow at this altitude, but it will be very hot down on the plain. We're going to hire horses from the post near the station. There is a similar post at the other end where we can leave them when we arrive. Serious hikers use this service all the time.'

'Wait.' Alex stopped dead. 'We're _riding_?'

'Yes.'

'But I hate riding!'

'You will hate walking the distance even more,' Yassen replied with a touch of menace.

'What I meant was "I can't ride" ' Alex clarified through gritted teeth.

'I will teach you as we go along. You're athletic; you should pick it up fairly easily. A horse is much easier to balance on than a surfboard, for example.'

'Yeah, until it bolts with you. Trouble is, a horse has a mind of its own.'

They had reached the ticket office. Yassen turned and looked Alex straight in the eye.

'The most important thing to remember when riding,' he said firmly, 'is that horses are herd animals. They naturally follow a leader, and to ride you must simply convince them from the moment you mount that you are that leader.'

'And how do I do that?'

'By being firm with your aids, the instructions you give the horse.'

Yassen stepped forward and purchased two tickets for the train down the mountain. They stepped into a carriage amidst the first rush of tourists and sat down opposite each other. Alex slumped down in his seat and stared out of the window.

'Don't slouch, Alex,' Yassen ordered. Alex gaped at him.

'I'm under-slept!' he protested.

'You will have arthritis by the time you are thirty.'

Alex made a growling noise and straightened up slightly. A harassed looking woman with two children in tow paused and gave Yassen a look of deep sympathy.

* * *

Yassen lead the way towards the stables near the station. Alex trailed behind, dragging his feet and kicking at stones. Yassen addressed a man briefly in Spanish and the groom, as Alex supposed he must be, disappeared immediately into the barn. This was obviously something Yassen had arranged the night before.

'Alex, _have_ you ever ridden before?' the Russian asked as they waited.

'A couple of times. When I was on an assignment the rich girl I had to stay with had me trekking around on her gold-medal horses, and I rode once this summer with – Sabina.'

'High-strung thorough-breds and riding-school ponies,' Yassen said dismissively. 'These are real horses.' He nodded towards the barn, where the groom he had spoken to before was leading out the horses he had hired.

'Oh, and I rode once in Cuba as well,' Alex remembered. 'Ex-army horses, I think.'

'Those will have been more like what we have here,' Yassen told him. 'Thorough-breds are often bad-tempered, and riding-school horses develop a lot of bad habits; the owners only want them to be slow and they're always being mishandled by beginners. These horses –' he nodded towards the ones they had hired – 'need to be well-trained to make them safe, as do army horses. Provided you are firm from the beginning you should have no trouble, but –' he took the reigns from the groom and began checking the length of the stirrups – 'do not let them get away with anything.'

'Uh, right,' Alex managed, staring at the horse. It was a dark brown colour with black main and tail – bay, he remembered dimly – and it looked huge, lean and muscular.

'Put your left foot in the stirrup,' Yassen instructed, demonstrating on his own mount. 'Take up the reigns, grip the saddle firmly and spring.' Yassen mounted smoothly, then swung back down and held Alex's horse's head.

Alex was relieved; he hadn't expected even that much help. He followed Yassen's instructions and managed to scramble on, gracelessly but without too much embarrassment. Yassen re-mounted and the two of them left the Yard at a walk.

It was nearly nine o'clock now and the sun was getting high, beating down on the plain. All around the landscape was the same: sparse, yellow-green grass, herbage, reddish dust and the occasional bush. Alex twisted round in the saddle, staring back at the snow-capped mountain. The cold night in the hostel seemed like a dream already. Alex hastily tried to avoid that particular memory.

'Shorten your reigns and give a slight kick to go forwards to trot,' Yassen called. Alex, remembering his warnings about decisiveness, obeyed with more conviction than he felt. The slightly unnerving ambling of the horse was immediately replaced with a bone-shaking jolting that had Alex lurching forward onto the neck. Grimly he pushed himself back into the saddle and tried to rise to the trot. After a couple of minutes he managed to find a rhythm, standing and sitting in time to the horse, but it was killing his legs.

'You don't need to rise so high,' Yassen told him. 'Go forward and back, like this.'

'This is killing my legs,' Alex complained, though the new technique was easier.

'Go into canter then.'

Alex made a mental note not to try complaining again. It only led to something harder. Closing his eyes he kicked. The horse leapt forward, jolting him out of his rhythm, but stayed in trot. Alex kicked again. Now he was stuck in a pace that seemed to be somewhere between trot and canter, with all the bumps from both. He felt himself slipping.

'Grab the mane!' Yassen barked from behind him. Frantically Alex complied, seizing a fistful of the long, coarse hair while letting the reins slacken. The horse settled into a smoother pace but was going much too fast, and Alex, with both hands now clenched in the mane and nothing but open plateau before him, didn't see how he was going to stop.

There was a drumming of hooves behind him, and next moment Yassen's horse appeared in front of him, blocking his way. Alex's horse bounced off it's shoulder, skittered back a little and stopped.

'Yassen, this is a very mad horse,' Alex moaned, all thoughts of not complaining forgotten.

'This is a very good horse,' Yassen answered coolly. 'Most horses would kick if they were steered into each other like that.' Alex nodded numbly. He could see the sense in that.

'Try again,' said Yassen more gently. 'Don't hold the reigns too tight, that will only make it go faster. Now take up a fairly slow trot…' they started off again, trotting steadily… 'you don't need to be going too fast. And before you try to canter, move your stirrups to the balls of your feet, they are too far down.'

'If I put them nearer to my toes it feels as if my feet are going to fall out.'

'It's better to lose your stirrup than to have your foot jammed through it; more cowboys have been killed by being dragged along behind their horses with a foot through the stirrup than in shoot-outs, whatever you may see in the films. And now push your feet down firmly into the stirrups, sit in the saddle for a few strides, and kick.'

This time the horse went smoothly into canter. Alex bounced a bit at first, but found that it was surprisingly comfortable considering.

'It is because these horses have a very long stride; that makes their paces smoother,' Yassen explained.

They made good time, travelling about thirty miles from the mountains, which faded to blue in the distance. Apart from Yassen's riding instructions they spoke very little.

Neither of them mentioned the previous night.

As the evening drew in and the cloudless plain began to chill, Yassen called a halt and built a fire. Alex stretched his aching muscles, knowing he was going to be horribly stiff in the morning. They ate in silence and unrolled their sleeping bags under the stars. Exhausted, Alex fell swiftly asleep.

**A/N: All hail my longest update yet! Whether you liked it or hated it, please review. I mean that! I have had absolutely no negative feedback so far, and it is freaking me out. Does this mean that the hundreds of people who have read this without reviewing all thought it was rubbish? Please **_**tell me!**_

**Thanking anonymous reviewers:**

**Jezza:** Glad you found it interesting. This chapter is a lot longer but it seemed like a good place to cut it. Hope you continue to enjoy!

**Bigfan: **Your review put me into full pinging-off-the-walls mode. Here is the next chapter! Well done for managing to translate Yassen's cryptic ramblings into: 'I was wearing a bullet-proof vest.'


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Look, I didn't invent them, OK? If you want to meet OCs go read my other story.

A/N: So last time I penned perhaps the only bedroom scene in history where NOTHING HAPPENS – sorry about that – and now I am [hiding from my parents] writing this in the study, where it is so cold that I am bouncing up and down to encourage my cells to respire and produce thermal energy…I've also been revising science, can you tell? But this story is not about me, it is about…

**ALEX AND YASSEN!!!**

**Shall we press on?**

Alex was up with the sun. Natural enough, as there was no way of blocking it out here. He lay on his back for a moment or two before he realised that his usual early-morning stirrings were not moving him. He made a definite effort, and then groaned as his muscles all shrieked in protest at once.

He'd been stiff before, but never like this.

'Good morning, Alex,' Yassen said from the other side of their burnt-out campfire.

'Can't – move,' he grunted, struggling out of his sleeping bag.

'Walk about for awhile, you'll feel better.'

'Yeah, if I can stand.' Alex succeeded in getting to his feet and almost fell over again.

He took Yassen's advice, pacing back and forth between a small bush and the ashes of their fire. His hips felt like they were grinding in their sockets and he could barely stretch his legs. He bent forward from the waist, rolling his shoulders, then turned back to grapple with his sleeping bag.

They ate a quick breakfast and Alex clambered painfully onto his horse, almost ending up on the ground twice during the process. Yassen waited patiently until he was mounted and the two of them set off again, riding out of the small dell where they had been camped and into the flat expanse of the plain.

Yassen gave occasional instructions as they rode. After they and the horses had warmed up a little he instructed Alex to trot. Alex kicked his horse forwards but his legs were screaming at every rise.

'Try sitting to the trot,' Yassen told him. 'Grab the mane if you need to.'

In sitting trot Alex was jolted mercilessly, but at least he felt in no immediate danger of falling off.

'Sit well back and relax your spine. Keep your heels well down. Think of your legs as weights, pulling you down into the saddle.'

Alex's remaining stiffness wore off as he rode; the rising sun began to warm his back pleasantly and the riding gently stretched his muscles. Of course the sun became less welcome and more of a discomfort as it rose.

'Sit up straight and grip with your knees,' Yassen told him whenever he slipped.

In this way they progressed through the day. Heat, work, instructions and the passing of a water bottle to and fro. Alex slipped into a kind of daze as the simple walk and trot ceased to require all his attention, and more and more he found himself staring at the Russian, trying to guess at what was going on in his head, and wondering whether the man could really have had anything to do with his father. Yassen rose and fell steadily in the saddle, never seeming to tire. He was slim and hard muscled, his arms flexing slightly as he adjusted his grip on the reigns. His blue eyes watched between the horse's ears, not fixed but flickering constantly. How could his eyes be that blue, Alex wondered? He had only ever seen blueish-grey eyes before.

Quite scary really.

His horse stumbled slightly, Yassen's eyes snapped round to stare at him and his stomach lurched.

'I'm fine,' he said hastily.

'You're watching me.'

'Tell me about my father,' Alex asked straight out. Yassen sighed and turned his head away, rallying his thoughts.

'When I was nineteen,' he began, 'I joined the organisation I work for now-'

'Why?' Alex asked immediately.

'My family were killed in an explosion in Estrov, in Russia where I was born.'

That hadn't been exactly what Alex meant, but he kept quiet.

'I travelled to Moscow and ran errands for the Mafia for awhile; there was no other work for a fourteen-year-old boy and I had to eat,' Yassen explained. Alex looked up sharply at the mention of Yassen's age. 'It was noticed that I had potential and I was brought in and trained by my organisation,' Yassen continued swiftly, before Alex could interrupt again.

'And that organisation is…?'

'They are called Scorpia. They are an international network which was formed shortly after the Cold War.'

Scorpia. Alex felt a slight shiver at the name, even though he had never heard it before.

'So these people found you and…'

'I was taken to their training facility. It is a small island named Malagosto, near Venice. It was there that I met your father, John. He was working there as an instructor at the time, but he was also a highly skilled assassin. I believe he completed five or six assignments in a few years before he was killed.'

Alex felt a creeping sense of horror. Did he really want to hear this? But the words held a kind of fascination for him.

'And what was he like?' he breathed.

'He was very good at explaining things,' Yassen answered, still not looking at him. 'When he gave instructions, he would only have to say them once, and we, the trainees, would understand. He taught me almost all basic skills I needed, and I believed that I was his favourite because I was quick to learn…though of course, being young, I thought I was the centre of the universe.' Yassen gave a slightly bitter smile. 'He would often take me aside, though, and teach me privately, special techniques that he thought I might have aptitude for.'

'And did you?'

'I'm still alive. And he seemed pleased with me at the time. He would talk to me, too, about other things. He encouraged me to tell him about my history, and why I came to Scorpia. And then he would sigh and stare away for a long time.' Yassen paused, as though still puzzled. 'He even once told me that he wasn't sure he was in the right career. But in the field he was absolutely lethal. He always succeeded and I never once saw him hesitate.'

Alex gripped the reigns tightly, his face frozen. His thoughts were in turmoil. If his father had really been a cold-blooded killer, what did that make him?

'And the scar?' he whispered.

'To complete their training all students are required to complete an operation in their field of expertise. John and I were sent to the Amazon to assassinate a drug baron. We had to hack our way through the jungle to his compound, and when we got there we had only a very brief window of time to make the kill.'

'The man was walking between his house and a helicopter, where he would be protected by bulletproof glass. It had to be done then or else he would have been beyond our reach. Unfortunately, as he appeared a black widow spider chose to climb onto my neck.'

Alex's skin tingled in sympathy. 'So my Dad gave you that scar getting rid of the spider?' he asked. 'What did he do, shoot it off.'

'Yes Alex, that is exactly what he did,' Yassen said with a faint smile. Alex stared. 'I was standing between him and the compound,' Yassen explained. 'He shot the black widow off my neck; the bullet clipped me a little and that's what made the scar. The same bullet killed the target.'

'Wow,' Alex blurted, in the same moment thinking, _some monument, a successful murder. _'But _I'm_ not like that,' he continued quickly. 'I couldn't shoot a man in cold blood.'

'Couldn't you?' Yassen asked. 'Scorpia are no more ruthless and underhand, in the end, than your own – '

'And I don't want to work for either of them,' Alex cut in, 'so if that's what you brought me out here for, forget it!'

'That is not why I brought you out here,' Yassen replied, with a coldness that seemed to freeze Alex through and through. 'I brought you here to save you.' Alex turned away, defeated for the moment.

* * *

_Day three and still alive, _Alex thought with grim humour when he woke up the next morning. He had spent a horrible night angsting over his father and was looking forward to another stretch of distracting activity, though walking and trotting no longer required as much brain power as he would have liked. Pounding monotonously along it was all too easy to fall into unpleasant trains of thought.

'I'm going to canter,' he announced when they had been going for a while.

'Not for too long,' Yassen said, recovering quickly. 'You mustn't tire your horse out.' Alex settled back into the saddle and kicked.

The horse extended it's neck and sprang forward, the wind of it's passage sweeping Alex's hair out of his eyes. Once he found the rhythm it was incredibly comfortable; the horse's back felt almost hollow. He kept his hands relaxed so as not to pull on it's mouth, and glanced down at the ground blurring by. Forget tiring out, the horse felt like it could go on forever.

He felt safe enough but noticed that they were picking up speed. How much faster could he go before he became unbalanced, and more importantly, could he now stop? He felt the horse change pace again beneath him. Now it was flying across the ground, and with each bound Alex felt as though his stomach had been left behind. This must be a flat-out gallop. Suddenly the situation hit home: he was perched precariously on top of an animal which had to be going at almost thirty miles per hour, with (unless he used the reigns incorrectly, God forbid) absolutely nothing holding him in place. He was totally reliant on his now deteriorating balance to stay on board, and if he fell at this speed it was going to hurt.

Alex might be frightened, but it wasn't like the other times he'd got into trouble on a horse, when he'd panicked and basically blacked out. He just had to keep a cool head and…

And there was a bloody huge log right in his path.

_Why the hell not? _Alex thought crazily.

He folded forward and the horse jumped with a beautiful, fluid motion, totally losing him in the process. There was a dark, confused moment, a lurch, and he found himself sprawled on the ground with the horse running away from him. Fortunately it stopped pretty quickly. Well-trained indeed.

Alex heard the thud of approaching hooves and next second Yassen came bowling round the side of the log and screeched to a halt beside him.

'Alex, are you alright?' he demanded, sounding uncharacteristically shaken. _How does he think I survived three missions if I'm that delicate?_ Alex thought irritably.

'I'm fine,' he grunted.

'Get up then!' Yassen snarled. 'You were going much too fast! You're only a beginner, what were you thinking?'

Alex ignored the tirade, checked his muscles and went to catch his horse. He was a little achy but there didn't seem to be any serious damage. He mounted swiftly and rode back to Yassen.

'You were the one who was all keen to push me on until a minute ago. What do you mean, what was I thinking? I was cantering.'

'But why did you try to jump?'

'I couldn't be bothered to steer.'

Yassen looked at him for a moment, then said:

'Get off your horse.'

'What?' Alex asked incredulously.

'I said, "Get off your horse." '

'You're making me walk?'

'No, we're stopping for lunch.'

_Bloody cryptic assassin_, Alex thought, dismounting. _Why can't he just_ say _that_?

'Why here?' he demanded.

'I can see an oasis about half a mile away. After we've eaten, I can ride and fill our water bottles, and you can stay here and get rid of whatever suicidal urge has overtaken you since this morning.'

'You're not trying to ditch me, are you?'

'If I do,' Yassen said, 'just aim for that peak –' he pointed to the horizon – 'and keep riding until you reach civilisation.'

'Right, thanks.'

They ate bread with ham and cheese, vacuum-packed against the heat, and then Yassen remounted his horse and rode off in the direction of the spring. Alex sat down and pulled off his riding boot. Something was rubbing his foot, and he eventually located a small pebble wedged into a seam of the leather. Alex planted his bare foot on the ground and felt a sharp sting in his big toe. He had probably been pricked by some thorn off the spiky vegetation. He moved his foot and saw a scorpion.

**A/N: Uh-oh! Sorry again to all those of you who are screaming: 'make them get ON with it already!' but I have got update-before-bedtime fever again.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Guess what? I STILL don't own them!

**A/N: Thanks to all of you who voted, tipping the balance unanimously in favour of MY idea. Illyric, I will lend you my scorpion if you want so that you can write your version, because believe me, I loved your idea _almost_ as if it was mine own. I realise that the last chapter was just me wittering on about the intricacies of horse riding, and now I _will_ get on with it, I promise. That's why this update took so long.**

**And now (cringecringeflinch) on with the story.**

Alex stared, frozen. The scorpion sat poised, sting curved over its back, then suddenly fled. In a second it vanished amongst the scrub.

There was a tiny bead of blood on Alex's toe. _Right_, he thought numbly, _first aid_. Where the fuck was Yassen when you needed him? He squeezed his toe several times, trying to get as much venom out as possible, then tied his sock tightly around his calf. It was the best he could do. The sun beat down, making sweat trickle down his back, and there was an unpleasant churning in his stomach.

He was very glad of the company of the horse. It seemed to pick up his mood, and ambled over to nudge his shoulder. He put an arm round its neck and patted it; any kind of physical contact was reassuring.

Finally he saw Yassen, kicking up a dust cloud on the horizon. It wasn't just the sun now, he definitely felt feverish, and his foot was burning. Yassen crossed the last hundred metres, slowing from canter to trot. Shoots of pain were travelling up Alex's leg.

He saw the change as the Russian realised something was wrong. He visibly tensed and then swung out of the saddle while the horse was still moving, jerking it to a halt and hurrying over.

'Alex-'

'I've been stung by a scorpion.' As Alex spoke, his face twisted with pain. The burning was getting worse.

Yassen stood frozen for a second or two, then muttered something along the lines of 'typical' and got down on one knee beside Alex. He put one hand on Alex's shoulder and pulled the stung foot into his lap, examining it carefully.

'What did the scorpion look like?' he asked, voice soft but urgent.

'Brown…brown sugar coloured…about this long…' Alex broke off with another gasp of pain and the Russian's arms tightened around his shoulders.

' _Escorpion amarillo_,' he said. 'They are not deadly, but the pain will be quite severe. I don't think sucking the sting will do much good; the poison's too far into your circulatory system. You will just have to wait it out.'

Alex sat, tensed, feeling sick as the burning in his foot intensified. He was grateful for Yassen's arm around his shoulders; it provided some kind of dubious comfort, at least. He tried to stay upright and alert, but the pain was making it harder and harder to think. He felt sick, and his skin was prickly with heat. Another spasm of pain lanced up his leg and he moaned before he could stop himself.

'Alex!' Yassen's perfect mask flickered for a second, revealing something else blazing behind. 'Morphine,' he muttered to himself, 'I think there's some in the saddle bags…'

He sprang to his feet and hurried to the horses, putting a foot up on the twisted roots of the tree, springing over with no apparent effort. He was so graceful…Alex bit back a cry at another stab of pain, and curled over, clutching his knees. It was so bad now, he could hardly think, and his vision was blurring…suddenly it was as though some dam of resistance had burst within him; he gave a loud, ripping scream, nails digging into his hands.

Arms flew round him from behind, and next second Yassen was rocking him to and fro, soothing him in Russian, the words tumbling over each other. Alex clutched his forearms, taking deep, shuddering breaths, then screamed again. Yassen clenched his arms tighter, distracting him a little from the pain. He felt hands stroking the sweaty hair from his forehead, warm breath, lips on his cheek…a small part of his brain told him that there was a very good reason why he should not want that, but thought was made impossible by the pain. Yassen kissed him from his forehead to his jaw, breath ragged with worry, and Alex moaned and pressed closer. _Anything but the pain…_

He noticed dimly when Yassen carried him out of the sun, and when the Russian left him for five minutes to untack the horses the pain grew almost unbearable. For the most part he was delirious: he only vaguely noticed the passing of time, head pounding, dazed with pain. Yassen tightened his arms with every scream, never breathing a word when Alex's nails bit into his skin.

And slowly the pain began to lessen. His fingers ceased to tingle. The fire receded from his hip, the muscles of his leg uncramped. He became aware of the time. It was after sundown, much colder, the sky cloudless and studded with brilliant stars. The pain had faded to a manageable burning in his foot.

Yassen felt him relax and stretched a little, loosening his own stiff limbs. Apart from those five minutes, he had never left Alex's side. Alex was slumped against him, breathing deeply, relishing the simple lack of pain. The Russian gave a sigh and began to lay him down, searching for his lips.

'W-wait,' Alex protested, twisting his head to the side He felt so tired…

'Alex,' Yassen whispered, 'you must know I care for you. Ever since I met you, I have wanted this. Please. You must want me too. I need you…'

_What has he been reading?_ Alex thought groggily. The words seemed irrelevant to their situation, like lines read woodenly from a script. It was so tempting to just give in. With a final effort he got both hands flat against the Russian's chest and pushed. Yassen allowed himself to be thrust away and sat, watching Alex, his face impassive.

'I'm not John,' Alex said, very clearly.

'I know.'

Alex bowed his head in surrender. Yassen kissed him full on the mouth and pushed them sideways onto the grass. Alex lay still, half out of it, while the Russian's lips roved across his face and neck. He wished Yassen would let him sleep. He was too tired to _think_…

But there were some things which did not require thought. As Yassen pressed more ardently against him, he found himself responding, some instinct making his mouth move with Yassen's and his arms coil round his waist. Yassen held him as if he would never let him go, but when Alex flinched away from his roving hands he released him instantly and rolled away, face blank, gazing calmly at the stars.

**A/N: Finelement! It is 1:40 am, I plead sleep deprivation. Seriously, I am not proofreading, just post and bed. Also it is the first time I have ever typed this late/early. I am now an official fanfictionoholic! *dance* **

**PS. I researched scorpions for this, that is their real name and they are not lethal. And that is the extent of my knowledge. Goodnight. **

**Blahh: **Agree.

**Aneska: **Ditto.

**Clemence: **Thanks 4 opinion.

**Budgie: **Ditto.

**Foreverwolf: **Glad I managed to get you that engaged. Now you know what happens when Yassen gets worried!

**All you fools must get accounts!**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

A/N: I have decided that author's notes for the sake of author's notes are immoral and wrong. That is all.

Alex didn't sleep much for the rest of the night. He just shifted through various levels of semi-consciousness while time crawled slowly by. His mind was whirling, running through the same confusing thoughts again and again. There was a part of him that was downright disgusted by what had just happened, but that didn't stop the near-constant butterflies in his stomach. He forbade himself from worrying about what Yassen might do tomorrow after a few hours of horrifying/thrilling images. Time and again he caught himself reliving the kiss itself. The whole thing was made all the more frustrating by the fact that there was so little to think on, nothing he could really analyse, let alone draw a conclusion from. And what was a conclusion, anyway? Alex wished something would happen; even the memories were getting bloody repetitive.

Yassen was just another constant in the silent landscape. Sometimes his eyes were open, reflecting the stars, sometimes they were closed, but he never moved and his face never changed. Alex was tempted to get up and demand some answers, but he didn't even have anything as concrete as a question, and he doubted 'explain' would get a very illuminating response. 'Explain what?' the Russian would say. Alex ground his teeth. Bloody, bloody, _fucking_ Yassen!

Finally the sky began to pale, and Alex gave sleeping up as a bad job. He hauled himself upright, a hollow weight of tiredness in his chest, and rubbed a hand across his eyes. Yassen stirred and then rose fluidly to his feet without even the aid of a stretch or a yawn, and moved over to the horses. Alex glared at his back for a moment and then tried to stand, only to find that his legs had completely gone to sleep. _Fabulous,_ he thought, as every movement brought on waves of pins and needles. _Absolutely fabulous._

They ate, broke camp and tacked up in complete silence. Alex had never felt more awkward in his life. He had got one foot in his stirrup and was about to mount when Yassen said:

'Alex.'

'Yassen?' Alex asked, lowering his foot again.

'I apologise.'

'Huh?' Alex gaped. He hadn't been expecting that.

'I apologise,' Yassen repeated, 'for kissing you. Maybe you are right, maybe I do think of you as if you were John. But that is beside the point. It was wrong of me to take advantage of you like that, and I will not do so again.' He swung easily into his saddle and Alex hastily followed suit. When he was mounted Yassen addressed him again.

'I know that it is useless to ask you to forget this – I've tried that before – but let us try to continue as though it had not happened. As I said, it will not happen again.' He squeezed his horse into a trot, leaving Alex standing. _No,_ he wanted to say, _that's not right… _

Alex still had no idea what he thought, and until that moment it had not crossed his mind that he might want to kiss the Russian again, but this abrupt closure felt wrong. Kisses meant something. Yassen might be able to cut something off and put it behind him like this, but Alex definitely couldn't. And that was the clearest conclusion he'd drawn all morning.

'How are you feeling?' Yassen asked, changing the subject. Alex considered and then answered quite truthfully:

'Sore.'

'I'm not surprised, it was a bad sting.'

'Huh,' Alex grunted, deep in thought.

Yassen watched him covertly, thinking as well. Did he really think of the boy as if he were John? No, he didn't believe that of himself, no matter what else. When he was young, John had seemed to him like gold, pure and bright and good all the way through. Reliable. Alex was much quieter, more introspective; his premature experiences had left their mark. Somewhere inside, he was damaged, flawed, touched with darkness. These facets of personality made him sparkle in Yassen's eyes like a precious gem. He sighed, too quietly for Alex to hear.

They rode for a good three hours without a break, making good time once again. After a while they came upon a stream which must have flowed from Yassen's oasis. It was really little more than a damp rut with a thread of water in it, but all the same the grass was softer and greener. They halted briefly and Alex went behind some bushes to pee.

It was a relief to be on his own for a few minutes. It was practically impossible to think straight near the Russian; he couldn't tell which thoughts were his and which were Yassen's and which ones were only there in rebellion to Yassen's…just thinking about it made his head ache. It turned out his subconscious had managed to sort out a list of questions during the ride, and now his brain launched smoothly into action to answer them.

_Right, did I enjoy the kiss?_ He forced himself to stop cringing. _Yes. Do I think Yassen is fit? Yes. Do I like him? NO!_ his mind screamed at him. _He's an assassin, you barely know him…_but he thought back to their conversations and wasn't so sure. He felt a kind of affinity with Yassen: the Russian was the only one who knew his secret, understood and never pressed him to talk, who had never manipulated him, never lied…he didn't worry oppressively, like Jack, but Alex felt that he cared all the same. He recalled the night in the hostel, the strange tenderness that seemed obvious in retrospect. Really, wasn't Yassen the best person t share himself with?

_Who does he think he is, anyway?_ Alex thought belligerently, _calling all the shots like this? One minute he's all over me and the next it's 'oh, no, Alex, this won't happen again…' what about what I want? Well, I'm damned if I'm letting him get away with this!_

With that, Alex zipped himself up and strode decisively from behind his bush. Yassen regarded him, a little perturbed by the warlike expression on his face. Alex sprang astride his horse with surprising finesse and set off at a smart trot. Yassen either couldn't or didn't want to guess what was up, so instead he settled himself with patience to wait.

'Well?' Alex demanded after a while. 'I thought you were going to teach me to ride?'

'You are riding,' Yassen returned with a small smile.

'No I'm not, I'm just sitting on it while it follows you. How do I control it?'

'You're eager to learn.' Alex gaped at Yassen's back. 'That's good. Let's begin with stopping.'

'No point walking before you can halt,' Alex agreed.

'The most basic aid is to pull on the reins, but you will find it a lot easier if you release your heels and calves, and squeeze your thighs and seat into the saddle.'

Alex glanced at said body parts, hastily averted his gaze and tried it. It was as if a switch had been thrown. The horse simply stopped moving.

'I am interested to see if these horses understand neck-reigning,' Yassen stated.

'Wossat?'

'You steer the horse by pressing your reigns against it's neck rather than pulling on the bit. Polo players use this technique because it's virtually impossible to keep a tight reign during the game. Take up canter.'

Alex nudged his horse and it responded almost immediately. It really was absurdly comfortable, considering the circumstances. Yassen cantered alongside him, then pressed his left reign against his horse's neck. It curved away to the right.

'Hey, cool!' Alex said, and tried it with his own horse. You didn't get as sharp a turn as by pulling, but it certainly worked. He messed about for a bit, steering the horse to left and right, until it began to shake its head and he decided to let the animal have a break. All this was very well, he seemed to have got some kind of interaction going, but what now?

'My reigns keep slipping through my fingers,' he complained. Yassen steered closer, examining his hands.

'You're holding the reigns wrong, put your thumb on top like this…' Alex did as he was shown. Their knees bumped.

'Alex, steer away,' Yassen instructed evenly. No response.

'Steer away now!'

'Why so tense, Yassen?' Alex smirked, still not moving.

'These horses will kick, now move!'

Alex jerked his horse to the left, met Yassen's eyes teasingly, then glanced away, blushing. Yassen felt unfamiliar heat rising in his own cheeks. Alex was altogether too charming in this mood.

By the time they halted Yassen was feeling tired and wrung out. Alex took his feet out of his stirrups and swung them too and fro, trying to ease his stiff muscles. He went to dismount and hit the ground harder than intended, staggering backwards into Yassen.

'Stop flirting and untack!' the Russian snapped, shoving him away. Alex turned back to his horse, grinning.

The trickle of water was now enough stream to deserve the name. It spread out into wide pools, connected by trickling veins of water. It only filled the bottom of its bed. Alex supposed the water must rise much higher in the winter.

Yassen was collecting brushwood from the bank, and Alex helped him to stack it into a fire. They got it going, then sat down and ate.

'Tell me about my father?' Alex asked when they were done.

Yassen stared into the fire. 'What more do you want to know?'

'Anything. Everything. Just…tell me about him.'

Yassen began to speak in low, even tones. He recounted John's sayings, his mannerisms, random events that had stuck in his mind, Alex found himself blinking back tears as he learned about the father he had never known. He'd never been held, by a parent or a lover, by someone who was his and no-one else's. He wanted Yassen in so many ways.

'And I remind you of him?' he queried when Yassen had fallen silent.

'Yes and no,' the Russian sighed. 'You look, speak, act, very much like him, but when I look more closely I keep seeing differences. John was a man of action. You are quieter, more intuitive, I felt that as soon as we kissed…' he broke off. It was true. Finding that Alex was not, and never could be, John had been almost like losing the man all over again, but at the same time there had been so many new possibilities…and the fact that for the boy's own good he could not explore any of them had been another death. Privately Yassen didn't think he was going to live beyond the next few weeks, with Scorpia and MI6 both on his tail. There was so much to mourn.

'You were in love with him,' Alex stated flatly.

'A teenage infatuation,' Yassen shrugged. 'A crush, as they say. You know how it is.'

'I know, I know,' Alex agreed ruefully. Yassen chuckled. The smile felt stiff and awkward on his lips. His chest ached. His heart was frozen, he thought, it had thawed just enough to kick painfully against the ice. He was so cold, and Alex's warm body was just inches away…

Their lips met, but then Yassen checked himself and pulled away. Alex gave a hiss of frustration.

Why so eager, Alex?' Yassen asked, trying t make light of it. Alex shook his head slowly.

'I don't know.'

'I think you just can't resist wielding this level of seduction over someone, no matter how unsuitable.'

'There could be something in that,' Alex admitted. 'Yassen – ' his voice turned plaintive – '_why_ won't you kiss me? Do I suck at it or something?'

'No, of course not. Of course not.' Yassen looked into Alex's eyes. They were wide with consternation, but deeper a mocking edge still glittered. He tried to keep the pain off his face.

'I want to be close to you,' Alex whispered hesitantly.

'You don't know what you're asking.' Yassen stood with an air of finality. Alex watched as he removed his horse's bridle, soothing the animal softly in Russian, and carried it to the stream. He settled himself on the bank and began to clean it, slowly and methodically.

Alex wondered if he'd pushed it too far. His vindictive thoughts from earlier had faded, and he wanted to comfort Yassen, make him happy. Maybe pressing for kisses wasn't the best way to go about it, but he didn't know what else to do. He got up and made his way slowly to where Yassen was sitting on the riverbank, his feet planted on the dry bed, and sat down beside him. His face was empty, giving nothing away. Was that a good sign or not? Holding his breath, Alex pressed himself carefully into the Russian and laid his head on his shoulder. Yassen's hands came up and ran slowly through his hair, brushing the fair strands from his eyes.

'Oh Alex, what am I going to do with you?' he sighed.

'You're going to kiss me again.'

'You're probably right.' Yassen risked a glance at Alex's lips, full but not too broad, already moulded with a hint of adult hardness. Damn, definitely right. He struggled with himself for a moment, then groaned and sank into Alex's mouth.

Alex seized his hair and pulled himself closer, his breath quickening. Yassen pulled away and Alex tensed for disappointment, but the Russian only snatched a quick breath before crushing his mouth against Alex's again. His heart was thumping harder than he would have liked to admit. To have Alex in his arms, consenting, eager…it was as if the very air had turned to gold. He'd thought he was past that; this sudden reversion almost scared him. He gripped Alex and pushed his tongue into his mouth. He tasted sweet and intoxicating, like forbidden fruit. He could feel them tilting, Alex underneath, towards the ground, and knew he had to stop this, or at least pause it, now, or he wouldn't be able to. He pulled his lips away from Alex's and ran them over his jaw, down his neck to his collarbone, pausing there while he tugged the boy's shirt to one side. Alex gave an elegant shudder which thrilled through him…_no, focus._

He set his teeth into Alex's shoulder and bit. Alex gave a gasp and tried to pull away, but the Russian held him fast. He increased the pressure, biting harder and deeper until Alex broke free with a sharp cry. Yassen noted with fierce triumph that he'd managed to erase the taunting edge from his eyes. They were hurt and wary, watching him with caution.

'Alex, I need you to listen,' he said quietly. 'First of all, how far are you prepared to go? A relationship is about compromise, and I don't promise to restrain myself. Secondly, there is a slight but very real danger if you are close to me. You saw what happened in the hotel. Finally, whatever happens this cannot end well. I am a wanted man, we have only a very short time left to us. Do you want those days, or do I stop this now?'

'Please don't patronise me, Yassen, I know we're not going to live happily-ever-after,' Alex returned. 'And I trust you. I trust you not to hurt me or kill me. I just…' Alex trailed off, unsure how to continue.

Yassen took him gently by the chin and tilted his head upwards. Their eyes locked. He wound his other arm round Alex's shoulder, then wrapped his legs around his waist, every limb straining them closer. Finally he kissed him.

Alex gave a quiet moan as the Russian's lips fluttered teasingly against his own. He felt warm and secure, locked in Yassen's strong embrace. There was probably no safer place for him to be. He returned the kiss, letting Yassen push him backwards till the sweet-scented dried grasses pricked through his shirt. Yassen was deftly unbuttoning the garment, sliding his hands over Alex's exposed chest. He gasped as one of them brushed his hardening nipple, arching involuntarily against his lover's torso. Yassen's pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight; he looked almost ethereal, eyes bright as he lowered himself onto Alex, pulling his head back to kiss his neck. Alex felt light-headed, breath coming in gasps, lost in heat and pleasure.

Then he felt Yassen's hands tugging at his belt, and was plunged into what could only be described as panic. He didn't want to do this, he had no idea how to do this, but he didn't fancy his chances of fighting off the aroused Russian, and he doubted the man would back down after his rash consent. Besides, he was now full of a wild aching need, he just knew he was going to be so _bad_ at it…

Yassen's hands grasped his thighs, forcing them apart, and coherent thought became a lost cause for the rest of the night.

**A/N: IcanwriteslashIcanwriteslashIcanwriteslash!**

**At least I believe I can, but I cannot know for sure unless you review.**

**I know, OCC, OTT, smooshy and so Twilight. I'm not going to spare him post-intercourse bruises, either. **

**I apologise for the dot dot dots. **

**PS: Shall I kill Yassen tragically or do a soppy, implausible ending with a **_**possible**_** lemon?**

**Hey:** Your accusations about it being rushed were absolutely fair, I just basically dashed it off and updated. I know Yassen is OCC, and I should probably correct that, but I don't want it to be one of those dubious-concent ones, so I'm just going to leave it, and I understand if you don't like it. However, I plead not guilty for chapter 5, as yassen would be worried and when Alex is thinking that his lines are like something out of a bad play...they are. Yassen has no idea how to chat someone up, so he's just rambling.

Thanks for your honesty and glad you liked it overall.

**Budgie:** Took forever, but it's here now. Enjoy.

**Oh, oh, it's snowing really hard. Sadly I am very very sick ********. **


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